Cook and Criminal
by aisling13
Summary: -He hadn't noticed the date until Mello had called him and said he'd be home around seven. Screw spying on hot models, Mello was going to be pissed if he knew Matt had forgotten it.- A oneshot for Mello's birthday. MelloxMatt, some swearing.


**Author's Note: **Something I whipped up in about half an hour for Mello's birthday, so it's completely unBeta'd. Based on my own activities today. I didn't notice the irony until I'd found a fic that pointed out the significance of today. Then I _had_ to write something, since Mello is _just that awesome_. Pity I wrote everything from Matt's POV...

And the solution Mello talks about really works. Ginger ale: more than just a fever-soother!

Feedback muchly appreciated!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Death Note. I do own about 95 chocolate truffles at the moment, though XD

**Warning: **implied yaoi, some swearing. Don't like, don't read.

* * *

**3:00 PM**

He hadn't noticed the date until Mello had called him and said he'd be home around seven.

Screw spying on hot models, Mello was going to be _pissed_ if he knew Matt had forgotten it. He mumbled a stream of profanity in his native tongue before heading to the garage for his car and the stack of license plates.

_Four hours, Mattie_.

**3:19 PM**

He earned more than a few odd glances from his goggles, fuzzy vest, and gloves – while it was winter, the cold wasn't nearly what it had been in England or America. Japan had a pleasant temperature that made him think about video games...

Well, most things made him think about video games, but the weather was just _perfect_ for spending several hours glued to his PSP, a coke on the floor and a cigarette between his teeth. Unfortunately, he didn't have time to waste. Mello would be back soon, and he'd be looking for something to make him happy.

(The ten thousand yen he'd just spent wasn't going to be mentioned at all. No need to let Mello know he'd been dipping into their funds...)

**4:59 PM**

Matt slammed the car door shut, plastic bags stretching from either arm as he stomped up the pathway. Thank Lord he'd found some WiFi on the way home, it had saved him precious time for _making_ the damn stuff.

(Mello had no idea what lengths Matt would go to for him. Even when they'd been little kids at Wammy's House, even after that albino had appeared and topped Mello as number one, Matt had almost worshipped the blond. And when a graduate of Wammy's put his mind to something...)

**5:04 PM**

Matt squinted at his PSP, pushing his goggles out of the way. Thank goodness he'd taken a class when he was younger about how to do this stuff. Mello wouldn't be pissed after all. He'd be quite happy.

Cheered by that thought, Matt set to work.

"_Step one: remove plastic_..."

Fifteen minutes later, loud strings of profanity in five different languages could be heard from the apartment. Had any of the neighbors been home and bothered to complain in person, they would have found Matt glaring with restrained fury at the bowl and spoon that sat innocently on the counter. In the bathroom sat the customary vest, boots, gloves, and goggles, as well as a pair of socks and a striped shirt, all with dark streaks set in. It was likely most of the stains would be permanent.

_How can it be this destructive_, Matt wondered as he lifted the spoon with trepidation. A swirl of color held onto it for a moment before quietly falling back into the bowl. Gritting his teeth, Matt took in a deep breath and plunged his hands into the bowl of..._ goop_... and belatedly realized that he should have cut his fingernails.

The second string of profanity was shorter than the first, but no less impressive. Matt glared at the bowl before mixing the two colors together.

"Damn. Where the hell are the teaspoons in this place," he muttered after removing most of the dark mixture from under his fingernails. "We have to have some..."

Apparently not. Shrugging, Matt eyeballed the water in the glass and tossed it in two. A small handful of instant coffee followed it, and Matt reached for the spoon with a triumphant look in his eyes.

**5:37 PM**

He pulled the tray from the freezer, hissing at the cold metal on his fingers. The glass bowl he'd removed from the microwave had just scorched them!

Studying the directions on the PSP led to disappointment. He didn't have half the things described in the next paragraph – heck, he didn't even know what some of them were.

A glint appeared in Matt's eye. This called for some _improvisation_.

**5:52 PM**

The tray had only gotten colder, Matt reflected sourly as he removed it from the freezer again. He placed it gently on the counter, glancing again at his PSP. He didn't dare touch it, not with all of this _crap_ on him.

Sighing with regret, he pulled out the butter knife he'd used earlier and dipped in the bowl, flicking white onto the small forms on the tray. He allowed himself some fun in this, letting the counter on either side of the tray get messy and not minding how dirty _he_ was getting. After all, he had over an hour now...

**5:59 PM**

"What is it with you and putting dangerous objects in your mouth?"

Matt's eyes opened quickly, and he gave a guilty glance at Mello before staring at the butter knife in calculation. He hadn't gotten it clean yet...

"It's a good thing I finished early," Mello said, rolling his eyes. "Honestly, you're _hopeless_ without me. You have something to eat? I had to skip dinner..."

Matt gave an awkward nod before standing. He couldn't believe Mello hadn't noticed the mess on him...

"Yeah," he said, finally taking the knife out of his mouth. "I made something for myself. I didn't know you'd be home early, or I–"

"What is that?"

"What, the knife?"

"_That_." Mello was staring at Matt's hands... his _dirty _hands.

"_Is. That. My. __**Chocolate**_."

"Uh... define 'your'–"

"You _ate_ my chocolate," Mello shrieked.

"No! I'm not suicidal, jeez! It's just– here, I'll show you..." Matt slowly walked to the kitchen.

"I was planning on cleaning myself up first, so it's really not done," he explained, but Mello didn't appear to be listening. He was busy staring at the small army of chocolate truffles that had conquered the kitchen counters.

"Happy birthday," Matt said lamely.

Mello seemed to have lost the ability to speak. Finally he managed to get out a muffled "All mine?"

"Well, yeah. It's your birthday. Your chocolate."

Mello inhaled several times. Matt grinned at his semi-boyfriend and moved for the sink.

"_No_!"

It took several moments before Matt figured out that Mello was sucking on his chocolate-coated fingers. "Hey!"

Between fingers, Mello managed to say, "Chocolate does _not_ belong in the sink, idiot."

Matt rolled his eyes. "Chocoholic," he muttered loudly.

Mello didn't bother to dignify that with a response.

"You know, there's still some left," Matt offered, desperate to get the blond off of his fingers. Mello's eyes found his, questioning.

"On the counter," Matt nodded, unnerved by the way Mello had yet to remove his mouth from his fingers.

"Is it still liquid?"

"Some of it, probably."

Mello stuck it in the microwave, but not before combining the white and milk chocolate together.

"Why'd you mix them?"

"It's all chocolate. Who cares what color it is?"

Matt sulked as Mello pulled out the bowl, not noticing how warm it was. He stirred it with the butter knife, earning a twitch from Matt as the gamer imagined how _germy_ it would be.

"_WHAT_ THE _FU_–"

Matt was unable to finish his sentence, most likely because Mello's lips were currently covering his. The blond pulled back quickly, not wanting to get chocolate in his hair.

Because Matt now had a bowlful of warm chocolate dripping from his head and chest, leaving dots on the floors and ruining his jeans, which he had somehow managed to avoid getting chocolate on earlier.

"Happy birthday to _me_," Mello sang smugly, dragging the gamer behind him down the hallway (and leaving a sticky trail of chocolate behind them).

"Mello, do you know how _hard _it is to get chocolate stains out of clothes?"

"Just soak it in some ginger ale," Mello said impatiently, "you clothes are crap enough to take it anyway."

"But–"

"And it's not like you're going to have this chocolate on you for much longer."

Of that, Matt had no doubt.

**11:13 PM**

While Matt lazed in bed, Mello managed to single-handedly devour over a hundred chocolate truffles.

And three rooms away, Matt smiled. The instant coffee he'd added had _not_ been decaf.


End file.
